unprincipled men are sadly mistaken. There are in our midst men of
the legal profession who follow the paths of high-souled honor and
integrity with as unerring coarse as the magnet the north pole.

But it is in a special sense we wish to speak.

Phillip Lawson is sitting at his desk in one of the upstair
apartments of a large building not many rods from "the Chambers."
His office is not inviting in its appearance--no luxurious
leather-upholstered arm-chairs, Brussels carpeting--nothing to
suggest ease or even comfort. Stamped upon every inch of space
enclosed within those four bare walls we fancy we can almost see the
words "up-hill work! up-hill work"!--and look toward the young
aspirant to see if he is in the least disheartened thereby. But our
friend receives us with a gracious smile and extends his hand in a
manner that is hearty and genuine. Even the tone of his voice is
assuring, and we listen, wrapt in admiration, forgetful that we are
trespassing upon his generosity. But we must first introduce you
personally to the subject of our remarks, that you may form your own
impression:

Phillip Lawson is not handsome. His large irregular features are not
in keeping with the proportions we call classic, nor is the sallow
complexion any improvement; but despite these facts, there is indeed
much that is attractive in Mr. Lawson's face. His gray eyes have a
tender sympathetic look--tender as that of a woman; his brows have
the reflection of genius as they are being knitted over some
intricate and perplexing law points at issue; and the look of
benevolence expressed in the lips, mouth, and chin, impart a tone of
self-respect and dignity which, united with culture and refinement,